Those who saw and enjoyed the last Lincoln Center Theater Shakespeare
production at the Vivian Beaumont might be a bit puzzled by the current one.
A rich, vibrant production like Henry IV giving way to a stolidly
traditional production of King Lear? How well can a thoroughly adventurous
production be successfully followed by one that desires to break little new
ground? Surprisingly well, it seems.

In a way, the productions complement each other, to the benefit and
detriment of theatregoers. Audiences get to be exposed to two great
Shakespeare works utilizing almost diametrically opposed methods of
presentation, but can't help but compare them. And while Lincoln Center
Theater certainly deserves kudos for presenting two works as ambitious and
difficult as these back to back, Henry IV is probably the one you'll
remember longer.

From a technical standpoint, there is very little amiss in Jonathan Miller's
handsome but chilly production of King Lear. But there's also almost
nothing earth-shattering, nothing that will truly redefine the play if you
have a long-standing familiarity with it, or leave you with a long-lasting
imprint if you're discovering it for the first time. It's immaculately
professional, flawlessly executed, and... that's about all.

When people think of "Shakespeare," this production is exactly what they're
envisioning: a massive set (the work of Ralph Funicello, with two levels,
doors, a couple of staircases and practically nothing else), elegant
costumes (Clare Mitchell), and mostly unobtrusive lights (Robert Thomson)
that aren't going to get in the way of the High Drama being presented.
Miller and company are providing true back-to-basics theatre here.

That's not to say that, for many productions, a complete fulfillment of
those qualities wouldn't be considered high praise. And it's not to say
that Miller hasn't done impressive work with this production (starring
veteran stage and screen actor Christopher Plummer). Faced with the
difficult task of following a mostly monumental mounting of a newly adapted
Shakespeare work, Miller acquits himself admirably and brings this lofty
tragedy right down to Earth, making it about as intimate as Henry IV was
epic.

That makes this King Lear much more of a personal emotional experience, and
the play's family-oriented story comes through loud and clear. After all,
at its core, the play is about the elderly, somewhat befuddled Lear who
wills his kingdom to his two unloving, treacherous daughters (Goneril and
Regan, played by Domini Blythe and Lucy Peacock) for their insincerely
professed words of love, while disowning Cordelia (Claire Jullien), whose
expresses her genuine feelings.

However, in fashioning a Lear that focuses so heavily on these smaller-scale
family issues, the play's greater perspective and implications are somewhat
left by the wayside; the central family dynamic often plays brilliantly, but
little sense comes across of what's really lost. With the greater political
elements of the play given relatively short shrift, Lear's ill-considered
decisions never really give the impression that the world beyond Lear's
field of vision is truly coming apart at the seams.

Many of these political maneuverings generally fall to the secondary
characters, like Goneril's husband, the Duke of Albany (Ian Deakin), Regan's
husband, the Duke of Cornwall (Stephen Russell), or the Lear-loyal Earl of
Kent (Benedict Campbell), whom Lear also banishes in a fit of pique. But
the actors inhabiting these roles are never charismatic or confident enough
to replace what Miller's laser-sharp focus on the central family takes away
from them. As a result, many of their scenes tend to drag.

Better is the play's contrasting plot, which involves a play for the power
held by the Earl of Gloucester (James Blendick) initiated by his
illegitimate son Edmund (Geraint Wyn Davies) against his legitimate son
Edgar (Brent Carver). That this element of the play is about a familial
situation not far removed thematically from the Lear one is certainly not
lost on Miller; many of these scenes find real depth and importance in the
material and never feel unrelated to the central story, as can easily happen
in this play. Blendick, Davies, and Carver do most of the production's
consistently best work; also notable is Barry MacGregor as Lear's trusty
and uncommonly wise Fool.

Blythe, Peacock, and Jullien also do well, but are frequently overshadowed
by Plummer. A commanding presence in every scene in which he appears, his
Lear is capable of evoking pity and anger simultaneously, and his slow
transition from an aging but strong man to a weak and broken one is nothing
short of masterful. He finds enough varying dramatic colors in each of his
lines to whisper pained sentiments while practically shouting and convey the
greatest rage in the quietest tones. One can't help but feel something for
the man who, in an attempt to keep the peace, bring about all-out war.

Otherwise, feelings are in short supply, but, surprisingly, that turns out
to not be too much of an impediment for Miller, Plummer, and the rest of the
company. Is this production as solid and competent as one could ask?
Absolutely. But while it would be surprising if anyone left this King Lear
feeling unimpressed, it would be even more surprising if they left it
feeling profoundly moved or touched.